Dinner at the ludus that evening carried a different atmosphere. Gladiators in the dining hall spoke louder, gestured wider, as if the excitement of the upcoming games had already infected them. News of Tribune Cornelius's visit and Senator Cassius's daughter had spread quickly, adding layers of gossip and speculation to the air.
Lucius chose a seat off to the side, preferring to observe more than participate. The social interactions among the gladiators were revealing—temporary alliances, persistent rivalries, fluid hierarchies based on skill, seniority, and the protection of authority figures.
"Center of attention choosing the shadows tonight," Drusus said, approaching with a tray of food. "Mind if I sit?"
Lucius nodded, indicating the empty spot across the bench. The veteran sat with a tired sigh that revealed the day's intense training.
"They say the Senator's daughter nearly devoured you with her eyes," Drusus said quietly, leaning in. "And that the Tribune wasn't pleased."
"Rumors travel fast," Lucius replied, neither confirming nor denying.
Drusus gave a wry smile. "This place has more holes than a worn-out tunic. Nothing stays secret for long." He took a sip of the weak wine served to gladiators. "You're sailing in dangerous waters, my friend."
"I'm not sailing," Lucius corrected. "I'm just the boat being pulled by different rowers."
The metaphor drew a genuine laugh from Drusus. "Well said. But even a boat can steer if it knows how to use the current." He paused, studying Lucius with renewed interest. "What do you plan to do?"
It was a direct question that deserved thought. Lucius reflected for a moment, weighing how much to reveal, even to someone who had proven trustworthy so far.
"Survive the games first," he finally replied. "The rest depends on the tide."
Drusus nodded, apparently satisfied with the cautious answer. "Wise. But let me offer advice from someone who's seen many promising gladiators come and go." He leaned in further, voice nearly a whisper. "Choose a patron and be loyal. Those who try to serve two masters often end up with none... or worse."
The advice was sound, born from years of watching Roman intrigues unfold. Lucius acknowledged it with a slight nod.
"Any suggestion on which to choose?" he asked, testing Drusus's inclinations.
"The Tribune has consolidated power, connections across the empire, and Caesar's favor," the veteran said after brief thought. "The Senator's daughter has rising influence, youthful momentum, and the unpredictability that sometimes wins surprising victories." He shrugged. "Each has strengths. But remember: choose the patron, not the bed."
The warning was clear—don't let physical desire for Livia influence a strategic decision. A fair point, especially considering the internal reaction Lucius had noticed in himself.
"Understood," he said simply.
Their conversation was interrupted by one of Servius's assistants—the same young man who had delivered Livia's enigmatic invitation the night before.
"Apologies for the intrusion," the boy said nervously. "But Servius requests your presence in the infirmary. Final medical check before the games."
Lucius nodded, though he knew no such check was scheduled. He bid Drusus farewell and followed the assistant through the ludus corridors.
Instead of the infirmary, the boy led him to a rarely used storage room.
"She's waiting," the boy whispered, indicating a discreet door at the back. "You have only a few minutes before your absence is noticed."
"She" didn't need to be specified. Lucius quickly assessed the situation. A secret meeting with Livia, clearly arranged through bribed servants. Bold—and dangerous.
"You didn't see me," the boy added as he retreated. "And I didn't see you."
Alone before the door, Lucius faced a decision that encapsulated his larger dilemma. Entering would show interest in Livia's alternative sponsorship, potentially compromising his arrangement with the Tribune. Refusing might insult the Senator's daughter, complicating the upcoming games.
Choose the patron, not the bed.
Drusus's words echoed as Lucius stared at the door. Behind it waited the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Rome. The kind of opportunity men would kill for—and the kind of trap that had destroyed many before him.
After a moment of thought, he pushed the door open and entered.
The storage room had been hastily transformed. Scented candles tried to mask the musty smell, expensive cushions covered the rough floor, and a jug of wine with two cups waited atop a cloth-covered crate.
Livia Cassia reclined among the cushions as if in her own triclinium in Rome, not in a dusty storeroom behind a provincial ludus. Her dress was even more provocative than before—silks so sheer they seemed almost imagined in the candlelight.
"I thought you wouldn't come," she said, her eyes roaming over Lucius without any attempt at discretion. "No man has ever left me waiting before."
"I didn't have much choice," Lucius replied, remaining near the door. "Your messenger was... persistent."
Livia laughed, tilting her head back to expose the curve of her neck. "The slaves here are surprisingly easy to bribe." She raised a filled cup. "Wine? Better than the dirty water they serve you."
"Why risk coming here?" Lucius asked, ignoring the offer.
"Impatient." She smiled, sipping. "Most men like to stretch these moments out."
"I'm not most men."
"That's obvious." She shifted among the cushions, the motion deliberately enhancing her curves. "That's why I'm here. You're not like the other gladiators—boring brutes who only know how to sweat and shout."
She studied him like a prized horse or an expensive statue. "You have... style. Elegance. And that display against three opponents..." She bit her lower lip. "It was almost a dance."
Lucius remained silent. The pattern was familiar—a bored aristocrat seeking thrill with a dangerous gladiator. The novelty wasn't in the situation, but in the political stakes.
"What do you want, domina?" he asked at last.
Livia stood fluidly and approached. "Do I really need to say?" Her perfume was exotic and overwhelming—probably worth more than a year's pay for an ordinary man.
"I think you should."
She stopped just a breath away, studying his face. "You're cautious. Good. Impulsive men don't last."
She circled him slowly, like a predator assessing prey. "What I want is simple. First, to see if you're as skilled in private as you are in the arena."
She completed the circle, facing him again. "Then, if you prove as impressive as I suspect, I want to bring you to Rome as my personal champion."
"Tribune Cornelius might object," Lucius observed.
"The Tribune." She said the title with disdain. "That tedious man thinks everything belongs to him. He collected soldiers. I prefer gladiators." Her smile turned sharp. "And what Cornelius doesn't know is that my father is already leaning toward giving me this... indulgence."
She stepped closer until only a breath separated them. "Senator Cassius loves to spoil me. And what are a few thousand sesterces for a promising gladiator, when his daughter knows how to pull his strings?"
Her perfume was intoxicating. Her closeness, deliberate. Lucius could feel her heat, see her quickening pulse. There was real desire in her eyes, laced with Roman power games.
"So it's a simple purchase?" he asked, voice neutral.
"Nothing involving a Cassius is ever simple," she said, running a finger over the scar on his face. "In Rome, you'd have privileges you can't imagine. Luxury, the best food, clothes... minimal training, just enough to keep your form... exceptional."
Her eyes wandered across his torso again. "And of course, there would be other... benefits."
It was a tempting offer in its directness—no subterfuge, no long-term manipulation like the Tribune's. Just a powerful woman's desire for a new toy.
"And when you're bored of your new toy?" Lucius asked.
She blinked, then smiled. "Direct. Refreshing." She returned to her cushions. "When I tire of things, I discard them. But those who please me... some own estates now. Others got commissions. One even married a wealthy merchant's daughter in Ostia."
She drank more wine. "I'm generous with those who please me, Lucius Mordus. Far more than the Tribune ever could be."
"And if I choose to honor my agreement with him?"
Her face hardened briefly. "Then you'd be the first to reject my... generosity. A distinction that could cost you in the arena."
"Is that a threat?" he asked lightly.
"A threat?" She laughed, but without warmth. "Just a fact. The tribal warriors you'll face were personally selected. The eldest has a spear trick—he feints high, then sweeps for the legs. A useful detail, no?"
A veiled threat paired with a tempting offer. The Roman way: carrot and stick, both wrapped in silk.
"So your offer is protection now, and luxury later," Lucius summarized. "In exchange for... company."
"Put so crudely, it sounds transactional." She pouted theatrically. "I prefer to think of it as mutually beneficial. You please me, I give you everything else."
Lucius kept his face neutral, though calculations spun in his mind. The offer was tempting—physical pleasure, comfort, possible safety. But Livia's whims were a risk. The Tribune seemed more stable, focused on long-term usefulness. Livia's interest could vanish overnight.
"The games are in two days," he said. "Any decision before then would be premature."
Livia narrowed her eyes, clearly unused to hearing no. "I'm offering help that could save your life, and you want to think about it?"
"I prefer to survive first, decide later."
She studied him, then gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Cautious to the end. Perhaps that's why I like you so much." She rose. "Fine. Think. But don't take too long. My interests, like my patience, are short-lived."
She stepped close, placing a hand on his chest. "To help you decide..."
She rose on tiptoe and kissed him—intense and demanding.
When she stepped back, her eyes sparkled with desire and challenge. "Consider that a taste of what's to come. Now go, before you're missed."
Lucius nodded and turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.
"Oh, and Lucius? If you choose the Tribune... make sure the displeasure is his, not mine. I can't control what my father sells, but I can make a gladiator's life... very short."
The threat was now explicit. A reminder that a powerful woman's whims could be as dangerous as a Tribune's strategy.
"Understood," he said, and left.
The walk back to his quarters was filled with turbulent thoughts. Livia was exactly what she seemed—spoiled, impulsive, powerful. But that made her no less dangerous. Perhaps more.
In his cell, he found a folded note on his bed. The seal belonged to Tribune Cornelius.
The message was brief:
"Patience is admirable, but loyalty is more valuable. Choices have consequences—some immediate, others far-reaching. Tomorrow, midday. My quarters in the city. A final conversation before the games."
Lucius burned the note slowly in his lamp, watching the flames consume it.
Two proposals. Two paths. One driven by desire, the other by calculation. Both offered rewards. Both held danger.
He lay down, but sleep came slowly. His mind spun, weighing options, risks, gains.
The Tribune offered stability and purpose, but demanded total loyalty.
Livia offered immediate pleasure and luxury, but her support was tied to her fleeting desire.
Choose the patron, not the bed, Drusus had said.
But perhaps there was a third path—to choose neither. Not yet.
To navigate both until the games passed, keeping options open until survival was assured.
The real challenge, he thought as sleep finally overtook him, wouldn't be defeating three tribal warriors, but walking the razor's edge between the cold power of the Tribune and the burning whims of Livia—between opportunity and peril, survival and ambition.
In his dreams, blades, blood, and eyes watched him—the calculating gaze of Cornelius, the fiery hunger of Livia, and the looming silence of fate.